Plague Dogs
by Nacoda-Lupine
Summary: Based on the book by Richard Adams; Logan couldn't remember life beyond the camps. But when a new subject is pushed into his cage, along with her little daughter, he's about to realize how life on the run is. Extremely dark, not for the faint of heart.
1. Poets often use many words

Summery: Based on the book by Richard Adams; Logan couldn't remember life beyond the camps. But when a new subject is pushed into his cage, along with her little daughter, he's about to realize how life on the run is. Extremely dark, not for the faint of heart.

Warning: This story may have content that is too much to handle for some. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Author Notes: I've always wanted a story that has something to do with this type of content, and after seeing both Felidae and Plague Dogs, I got the perfect idea. I wrote this all down, just as a little blurb, and it became much more.

This also gave me a chance to reintroduce an old character. She's been in the storage bin for a while, and I've just dusted her off and was looking for a place to use her.

I hope you guys enjoy, and as before, please comment back,and let me know what you think. If I get 5 comments, I'll post the next chapter :)

* * *

The cage doors opened with a sharp snap, and the man in the white coat poked his head in. The subject inside glanced at him, and then went back to his book, with a huff.

"C'mon, Number 10, let's not make this harder then it has to be."

Number 10 glared at him sideways, and said nothing. The man in the white coat heaved a sigh, and then pulled his head back, motioning for the men with the guns to do their job. They entered, masks pulled over their face, and their guns cocked and ready to go. Number 10 chuckled, and three seemingly metallic plated claws slid out of his hand with a _shink._ He placed the book next to him, and pulled his upper shirt on top.

He didn't want to get it bloody.

Thus began a normal day for Subject X, AKA, Number 10, AKA, Logan. And of course the day started, once again, with a struggle and the cleaners having to wash the blood out of his cage. But when they finally _did_ drag him out of the cage (each guard holding onto an arm, and literally dragging him on his ass to the labs) he wore a smug grin, his claws dripping with red. The mangled bodies of the guards were spread across the room, and the cleaners were groaning for their luck.

He overheard one mutter "Why can't he just walk out, like a _normal_ subject?!"

Thing about that was, he _wasn't _a normal subject. He was…different. They called him a "mutant", but he called himself something else.

'Lucky.' He thought grimly, as they dragged him through the pristine hallway. 'Yea…I'm damn lucky'

* * *

The year was 2009, the year of new technology, and advancements beyond any of man's dreams. But, like man has always been, his paranoia has created a problem for all who are different. In 2007, a strain of Influenza appeared that had the symptoms of both Rabies and, in the end, Ebola. It became the new plague, and anyone who was suspected with the disease (anyone who had the genetic makings for getting the disease, baisicly) were rounded up, and sent to "sterile camps", so that they wouldn't affect others.

The problems with these camps were that they were all a sham. The government always called them "safe, healing, and comfortable environments", but they were anything _but._ The camps were no better then the Nazi's work camps, and some were even worse. Those who had been "infected" were treated like slaves, creating war materials and doing hard labor from sun up to sun down. Every morning, as the sun was rising, they were called for "inspection"; the camp prisoners were made to stand for hours, as their numbers were called aloud. Anyone who slouched or shifted was promptly beaten, sometimes to death. Then the prisoners were sent to work, barely a crust of bread and glass of water crammed in their bellies. Children were sent to factories, their little hands quick and perfect for working with the equipment. The young adults were sent to the fields or to the mills, all picking and harvesting crops and cotton. The adults all had different jobs: some were haulers, some were seamstresses, some built buildings, some worked in the crematoriums. But, the day ended the same for them all: clear chicken broth, stale crust of bread, glass of water, and then to the cramped houses that they slept in until the cycle started again in the morning.

But this was the fate of the _lucky_ ones. The unlucky ones were sent to _the labs_.

And those who were sent to the labs….well, they were usual never seen again. See, scientists used those who went to the labs as test subjects. The subjects were branded with a new number, and then sent to the cages, kennels that housed the subjects. The cages were _just that_, cages, with steel doors and locks and chain link fences. If you were lucky, you got a somewhat "okay" cage mate. If you were unlucky, you got a cage mate that was dying (in that case, your cage mate wouldn't be removed until he was already covered in flies and maggots and stinking to high heaven).

If you were _really_ unlucky, you got a cage mate with a red flag on the door. The red flag meant one thing: the inhabitant had killed more then 5 of the residence in the facility, be them scientists or subjects.

And here, we meet Logan, Number 10, Subject X, and killer of 43 guards, 10 scientists, and 6 subjects. Logan's cage didn't even have a red flag on it, but was in a different room then the other kennels. It was behind an electric wired, unbreakable door, and as tiny as it could be. He had been alone in the facility for years, ever since they had first captured him and sent him there. His only contact was with the guards and scientist, and…Logan closed his eyes, a deep shame coming over him. When he had killed the six subjects, it hadn't been because he wanted too. The scientists had been testing something, something that would-

_"C'mon, move it, you bitch!"_

Logan's ears perked, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked into a different corridor, and sniffed, a new smell greeting his nose.

A guard had just hit another subject with his gun butt. The particular guard was well known for his cruelty, and especially to the new subjects.

And what a subject she was. A strange creature, wolfish, with white fur and dark brown hair, and a coal black nose, and a tail that dragged along the ground. But beyond that, she looked…human…The subject was new to the labs, obviously, her clothing proving as such. She wore an old, raggedy, brown dress that was badly torn at the bottom, and a tan scarf over her head that covered her eyes. But her irisis refused to be hid, and glowed a dull amber, and were covered by square framed glasses that seamed to scratched too see through.

(Most the lab subjects wore the same white scrubs. All except for Logan, who, no matter how many times it happened, always found a way to worm back into his old jeans and wife-beater. It soon came to be that they gave up on taking the clothes, and let him wear the ragitty old clothes)

She was on the ground, rubbing the back of her head. A few drops of blood fell onto the ground. Her arm was cradling something against her chest.

There was a soft whimper. Logan's eyes widened as a little girl poked her head out the woman's arm. The girl looked much like her mother, with wavy black hair and white fur. But the little girl's eyes were bright grey, and filled with tears.

Their eyes met, blue with grey. He tried to smile, as if to say "everything's going to be all right, everything's going to be okay", but he knew it wasn't. _Nothing_ was ever going to be okay. Nothing was ever going to be all right, ever again.

The little girl slowly raised a hand and wiped her eyes, and then waved to him. He waved as best as he could back.

_These monsters would operate on a kid. Wow…and I thought I'd seen everything._

* * *

"Well, well, well, looks like they were able to convince you to come out of your cage, Number 10!" said the red haired nurse. He laughed at his own joke; as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

"They were just so charmin', I couldn't say no, doc." Logan retorted. The guards threw him onto the ground, and he huffed, standing…

and froze.

* * *

"What's wrong, Number 10? Don't like the water?" The nurse taunted, before Logan felt himself roughly pushed into the glass chamber. He fell forward, and shrank back, as icy cold water began to fill the chamber. He swiveled around, just as the chamber door was locked shut. With a feral roar, he extended his claws, and began to slice at the glass. But, no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how deep his claws went the glass wouldn't break.

* * *

_Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man._

_~Edward Young_

* * *

The water was up to his hips now. Logan's heart was beating faster then it should, and he felt the cold fingers of panic creep in his chest. He's slashing the glass harder, and he feels blood on his hands. Shatters of glass are slicing up his hands, and the blood is dropping into the water, giving it a milky quality.

'It's just _illogical_' says his more intellectual side. 'You've don't this before, and the outcomes the same, why fight it?'

He ignored the voice, and continued his Sisyphean task

He would never admit it out loud, but when one saw his reaction to water, it was made very clear: Logan was a hydrophobic.

The water was nearly filling the chamber, and Logan was at the top, thrashing in the water, his hands on the top of the chamber, his lungs gasping for air. Shame weighed him down; how could _he, the great __Wolverine_, be afraid of something as simple as _water?_

His hand was left at the top of the chamber, reaching up, as if waiting for a hand to grasp his, and pull him out of the abysmal darkness he was now flowing in. In the water, he opened his mouth and screamed, as the water began to suck him lower and lower into its darkness.

He heard mechanical whirring. The glass chamber was closing in on itself.

Logan really _was_ panicking at this point. He swam (or more like thrashed) back to the entrance, trying to open it once again. He nearly laughed, his frantic motions reminding him of a hamster in a wheel.

The chamber was so small now; he was barely able to turn around. His lungs burned, and despite all intentions, he gasped in. Water flooded his lungs and he choked, flailing in the water. He could hear himself screaming, clawing at the water, searching for an exit.

Perhaps he wouldn't be so scared of water if this hadn't become a daily thing for him. When he was first transferred to the facility, he had experienced his first taste of such evil, by this very chamber.

He had been fast asleep in one of the kennels (they had slipped something in he food, he _knew_ it) and they had dragged him into the chamber, still sleeping, and started the test. The water had startled Logan, shaking him from his slumber. Still groggy, and the water now pushing him up to the ceiling, he had panicked, and started to drown.

But that was the strange thing about Logan. Along with the bone claws, he had the ability to heal himself from any wound, be they a laceration, or a burn…

or drowning.

Thus, it goes without saying that the water chamber experiment was possibly the most painful (and traumatizing) of the experiments. Soon, it got so that he could barely be around water without shrinking back in fear. Even the water dish in his cage could make his heart quicken and lungs contract. When you can drown without dying, without blacking out, just…thrashing about in agony, as your lungs shrivel up, and your insides burn, and the silence is so defining, you think your going mad…

The water roared, and suddenly, Logan feels himself being pulled downward. And, not the sinking feeling he had at first, the water _really was_ pulling him into her mouth. He fought against the water, but the current was much too powerful, and he was pulled into the black whirlpool, spinning faster, and faster, until-

The water was sucked into the floor, and left Logan, gasping for breath, and writhing in both fear and agony. His eyes were so dilated that when the scientists went into the chamber to check his vitals, they thought he'd gone blind.

He hadn't, of course, and the moment he go this whit about him (which wasn't very long) his claws unshaved with a sharp _shink,_ and were through a rookie's skull faster then you could say "guards"

One of the female nurses screamed, and ran out. The guards fired their weapons, and it made none the difference. The chamber was still coated in the young medics and nurses blood.

* * *

The head doctors stood on a platform above, observing the carnage. It was nothing new to these doctors, who called themselves patriots (Logan called them hypocrites) Number 10 was well known for killing the workers at the plant. Of course, they never told the new applicants that. Be bad for business, and all. A doctor snorted, and turned back to his paperwork, jotting notes down as fast as he could. The observation of Number 10 was like watching the interaction of animals: always different, always unique.

A black, red headed woman turned to him, crossing her arms over her white jacket.

"What do you think, Dr. Robespierre?"

The doctor who was taking notes paused for a moment, and looked back to Number 10's carnage. The doctor had grey hair, despite being relatively young, and watery eyes. He coughed, and placed his notes down, straightening his jacket.

"We shall go through the with merging of Number 10 an d Number 85." He said rather dully.

Number 10 roared as a bullet pierced his shoulder. A few second later, the head of the offending guard smacked against the glass, and slid down, blood splattering against the glass.

"Are you sure about this sir? Number 10 is extremely dangerous, and getting more dangerous by the day. The only reason he's _not_ in underground kennels is because he's such an excellent test subject. Number 85 couldn't possibly-"

"Now, now, Miss Ivy, you must calm yourself. Remember, Number 85 has a trick up her sleeve."

'What's that?"

The grey haired doctor removed his glasses and cleaned them against his shirt. He replaced them, and they shone, his eyes invisible by the light.

"Number 86. He wouldn't harm number 86 even if it led to his death."

"Are you sure, sir?"

Number 10 gave one final roar. Then he stopped, and looked around, as if confused. He went against the left wall, pressing his ear to it. A look of sheer horror replaced his look of unbridled furry, and he sank down, still listening to what was going on in the next chamber.

"...Positive."

* * *

What do you guys think?

I know you hardcore X-Men fans are going to get on me like a ton of bricks, but, hear me out. The character of Logan is always this stoic, hard-lined man who has this "Them vs. Me" feel to him. But, underneath it all, his physiological aspects could drive a psychologist wild. I wanted to play on that, if only for a little bit.

Chapter 1 Soundtrack:

Main Theme: Sleeping with Ghosts by Placebo

Chapter theme: "Handlebars" by Flobots


	2. To say a simple thing

**Summery: Based on the book by Richard Adams; Logan couldn't remember life beyond the camps. But when a new subject is pushed into his cage, along with her little daughter, he's about to realize how life on the run is. Extremely dark, not for the faint of heart.**

**Warning: This story may have content that is too much to handle for some. Reader discretion is strongly advised**

OMG, next chappy! Huzzah! As before, review and tell me what I'm failing at!!

Logan belongs to Marvel. Sadly.

Logan: Last time I checked, I didn't belong to anybody!

Of course Logan. You keep thinking that.

* * *

The screaming was loud enough to overpower even his roars.

Logan sat against the left wall and listened, partially out of morbid curiosity, and partially because he felt he had to. The screamer was a female, mid-age, maybe 35. It sounded like they were doing the electric tub test.

He grimaced. Next to the Water Chamber test, Electric Tub test was just as traumatizing. The test subject was stripped and placed in a tub half filled with icy cold water. Then, the water was drained, and the subject was roughly dried. After that, clampers were placed on various parts of the body; for men it would be just various parts of the body: the arms, the nipples, the legs, the ribs, the underarms, any place a clamper would fit snuggly. For women on the other hand…well, the test was ten times as disturbing: clamps would be fitted on the breasts, the clitoris or labia, the underarms, the neck (in rare cases, the lips as well)

And then, the electricity would be turned on…

The pain would be downright unbearable, but the scientists (being the kind people they are) would only increase the electricity to a certain point, so that the subject wouldn't be killed by the electric overload. This doesn't mean nearly half of the people in the experiment didn't meet a horrible end. Actually, more then half of them were killed when their hearts couldn't take it, and subsequently exploded. The next half were left with horrific scars and loss of feeling in the electrified spot. What the scientists were trying to learn as beyond Logan. He wasn't even sure he _wanted _to know.

The screaming stopped, and was replaced with pathetic sobbing. There was a loud _clang!_ She yowled in pain.

_'Bastards overturned the tub.'_ Logan bit back a snarl. The girl was still crying, and the doctors were talking as if nothing had happened.

* * *

She was moving….the pained pants, the shuddering whimpers, the dull _smack_ of her wet hands against the cold steel floor…She crawled into the nearby corner, and panted, hugging her arms tightly around her burnt breasts. She couldn't remember ever feeling so…helpless. She yowled again when the nurses

Her nose caught a strange sent: masculine, angry…she sniffed again, slightly confused…

'_Hopeless?'_ she question.

She placed her mouth gently against the steel wall, and took a deep breath.

"_Hello? Can you hear me?"_

Logan blinked. Her voice was soft, barely functioning, barely audible, but _there._

_ ** "Yeah. You okay, sweetheart?"**_

_ "I-I don't know…my…" _She wracked her mind, trying to come up with the words that didn't sound so graphic.

_**"It's okay, you can say it. I've been here a while, nothin' surprises me anymore."**_

_ "T-those men…they put those clamps on my…my body, and…"_ Her voice started to shake with sobs again.

"_Why are we here? What are they doing?"_

_ ** "I dunno, honey. Halfa me wants to say we're here because these bastards 're bored, but you think they woulda killed us by now."**_

_ "They have my-my daughter….oh my god, what are they going to do to her, they're going to kill her-"_

She was beginning to panic. He could hear her heart pounding in his chest, the sent of blood rushing through her veins. She was panicking.

** "**_**Calm down."**_ He ordered sharply. He winced at his own whisper; he hadn't meant to sound to unkind. **"**_**You're gonna hurt yourself, and they really ****are**** gonna kill her if you're dead."**_

_ "But-but-"_

_ "**Listen to me, honey. When they took her, which direction did she go?"**_

_ "Um…."_ She was still panicking. Logan could hear her wheezing, and cursed darkly. Panicking created a stronger blood flow, which caused adrenalin, which caused her to try something stupid and get shot by the trigger happy guards. ** "**_**Stay with me. Which way did they go?"**_

_ "The-The left…they took her in the hallway with the green stripes on the walls."_

Logan let out a sigh of relief. He had been in the facility long enough to learn where every hallway led: the hallway with the green stripes was the medical examiner's room. Here, subjects went for basic physicals and checkups. The hallways straight ahead, with plain, steel walls, lead to the underground kennels: those who were too dangerous to be around _anything_, and (for some reason unknown to Logan) couldn't be killed, were sent to the underground. The hallway where they had just come from (the one with the red stripes) lead to the Kennels and to the sleeping quarters of the Guards.

And the hallways of the black stripes…well, Logan didn't know about them. He'd never been down there, but he knew well enough that when a subject went down that hallway, he never came back.

** "**_**She's gonna be okay, darlin'. She's all right."**_

_ "How do you know?"_

_ ** "Trust me…I just know…"**_

She placed her hand on the steel wall, and pressed her fingertips against the cold metal.

"_Who…Who are you?"_

He chuckled darkly, and placed a callused hand against his own side of the wall. He slid the appendage down until he felt the beckoning warmth of her fingertips. He pressed gently, and it seamed that their handprints burned into the wall.

_**"a friend…a friend forever."**_

_

* * *

_

Logan wondered what happened to the girl on the other side of the wall as he was led back to his cage. Newbies never really did last long in the Labs. A good majority of them were dead before the week's end.

And the kid? Logan winced at the thought. Kids were meant to grow happy and healthy, skin their knees on the ground, play outside with their friends, get sun tans in the most ludicrous of places, be_ a regular kid._

Life inside the labs was not a life for _anyone._ Especially a child.

They shoved him into the cage, and closed the steel door with a snap. One the guards peeked into the small, bared opening in the door.

"Your getting a cell mate today. Try not to eat it, okay?" He chortled deeply, and walked away with his partner (who was also breaking out into hysterics.) Logan watched them leave with narrowed eyes.

He got as close the door as he was willing and strained his ears:

"_The girl doesn't have a chance."_

_ "Naw, She'll be dead by nightfall"_

_ "Hey, you never know. Number 10's bad, but I don't think he'd kill a-"_

_ "Don't be naive. He's one of them, you can't trust 'em."_

Logan hissed. The "them" the guards were talking about was a "mutant", a human with an advanced 'X' chromosome. No one knew how the mutations had happened, or why they occurred, but they did understand that the mutants were different, and that was a real problem with the irony of the fact was that most of the people in the camps _were_ mutants. There was something in the DNA that made them more susceptible to catching the virus, or some crap like that.

_ "Sad. And she has that kid, too."_

Kid? Logan sat back, and stared at the single beam of light that fell through the door's opening, his eyes darting back and forth. Soon after his departure from the water chamber, he deduced that the girl behind the wall and the mother in the hall were indeed the same person. Could it possibly be _her,_ that strange looking woman that smelled so unique?

Perhaps...

He sat cross-legged at the entrance and waited. He would see soon enough.

* * *

"Get in there!" The voice roared. Logan was jostled from his doze when something fell into his lap with a shrill shriek, knocking them both over. Something else was tossed into cage, something small. It smacked against the back wall and screamed in pain.

The door was slammed shut.

"Number 10, meet Numbers 85 and 86!" said the gruff voice. The Something That had Hit the Back Wall whimpered, and crawled against Logan's back, hiding, clutching his dingy shirt with tiny hands. It buried its head in his back, and immediately began to wail. He placed his arm around it, hugging it close.

"Have a good time!" He laughed, walked away, his boots stomping against the ground.

The girl in his lap whirled around, grabbed her shoe, and flung it as hard as she could at the door.

"Pig! I hope you rot in hell!" She screamed, her voice raw and rough.

The little girl released Logan's shirt, and immediately clung to her mother, dropping next to the exhausted girl, and curling against her. The woman pulled her close to her breast, and looked up at Logan, her eyes weary.

"Thanks for the landing spot." She said quietly. She laid her head back down, and promptly blacked out.

* * *

Number 85 could remember life beyond the cages and knives and electric torture. She could remember living in the wonderful weather of her home country, where it was never too hot, or never too cold, and hostility against a brother or sister? Unheard of!

The humans were…they were often so close to barbarianism it surprised her.

And scared her.

* * *

"Is momma gonna be alright?" The little girl whimpered.

Logan had dragged the woman to the back of the cage, and had (very, very gently) examined the damage.

"I dunno, darlin'. Your momma's hurt real bad."

And she was. With only the top of her dress pulled down, Logan knew his work was cut out for him. It looked as if the scientists had dropped hot coals all over her skin. Her fur was pockmarked with circular, third-degree burns and what looked like small, thin knife marks. Her arms looked like they had been pushed into a blender, with deep cuts that still oozed blood.

He reached into the dark corner, and pulled a small, neatly folded package out. At one point during his stay at the Labs, he realized that not all of his injuries were going to heal as fast as needed, so he had begun stealing rolls of bandages from the labs. The techs didn't seam to notice (or didn't seem to care), so he stole enough to last him a good while. Logan chuckled darkly; it was nice to have some reason to use it. He began to tear off strips and tie them around her chest.

"You see that bowl over there?" He pointed to the corner next to the door. A small, metallic bowl sat there, seemingly blending into the wall.

The little girl nodded her head.

"Good. Get it fer me, will ya, honey?"

The little girl padded to get the bowl. Logan noticed her staggering limp, and withheld his curse.

"Here." She whispered, setting the bowl next to him.

"Good girl. Now, you keep as quiet as you can, okay? I gotta concentrate."

She nodded. Logan smiled lopsidedly (it didn't ease the little girl's apprehension, though.) and began his work, cleaning and wrapping as many wounds as he could.

It seamed like hours before one of them said a word.

"Yeh know, I never yer names." He said absentmindedly. The little girl, who was gently dozing at this point, looked up at him, her grey eyes seaming to widen.

"My name's Thanatopsis. " She said quietly. "And momma's name is Amelie."

"Thanatopsis, eh? Isn't that a poem?" Logan knew full well it was a poem. He had heard it many, many times, he was even able to recite a few of the lines. But he wanted to keep the girl talking. Keep her mind focused on something _other_ then the current predicament

She nodded. "Yes. It's momma's favorite poem. But I like the name Calypso better."

"Calypso?"

"Yes. My name is Thanatopsis Calypso Gabriel. Momma…Momma says that's what _her_ mother would have named me."

"Oh. Was your grandmother in the camps with you?"

"No. Gramma's back on Momma's home." Calypso's eyes seamed to widen, and she leaned forward, a childlike exuberance sprinkling her voice.

"Momma says that once we get out of here, she'll take me to her home, and we'll meet her family. She says that it never rains there!" The little girl giggled.

Logan nodded. "You've never been there? Where were you born?"

Calypso giggled again.

"I was born-" Suddenly, Calypso's eyes rolled in the back of her head, and she slumped over, crumpling into a small pile.

"She was born in the camp."

The gruff voice startled him. Number 85 gingerly sat up and looked at the elder with weary eyes.

"She was born in EveningFall a year after I arrived there." She looked at the now snoring child, and grimaced.

"oh." Logan wished he could have said more, but what more could he ask?

_"Did your husband die in the camp? Is he here now, on the list to go into the black hall? Or was it some deranged prison member that had his way with you, that touched you in the places that 16 year old boys only dream about at the junior prom?"_

Besides, he was too busy staring at the now crumpled form that was Calypso. Number 85 followed his gaze, and grinned.

"Narcolepsy." She whispered.

"Excuse me?" He asked, confused.

She continued to stare at the child.

"She has Narcolepsy. Had it since she was born. The doctors, they wanted to do tests on her, stick her full of needles, that whole bizz. And I told them that if they even attempt, I'd tear out their eyeballs and eat them."

She threw her head back and gave a short bark of a laugh.

"They didn't try again. But, they did put us both on 24/7 watch. Even when I went back to the mines, they always had a guard nearby." (The Mines was an underground canal that those in the camps worked in. There were several different sections, some working coal, some working in oil, and some working in salt. From the look of her reddened paws, Logan suspected that she had been a salt hauler)

She sat up on her haunches, and examined the bandages. She frowned at first and then smirked.

"Pretty good. You a medic?"

"No. Just been around long enough to know what I'm doing."

She nodded, raising both eyebrows.

"Looks like it." She looked around the cell, crossing her legs pretzel-style. Lines were criss-crossing her face and her age was starting to show. Dark circles wound round her eyes, and her eyelids look so heavy.

"What are we doing here? What did we _do,_ what did we _say?_ It doesn't make sense, why are we _here?"_ She pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her dusty legs, burrowing her head down.

"Calypso…you know, she's never seen a blue sky before? Never heard the birds sing, never got to play with other kids her age. The moment she was born, they tossed me out of the hospital, and back into the mines. I worked for the last three years with her in my hood." She reached behind her and plucked at the hood that blended in her burlap colored dress.

_\_ Logan crawled over to her, and gently placed an arm over her shoulder. The girl was barely 35, maybe not even _that old_, and she had already seen hell itself. And the kid? He heaved a sigh.

Logan had lost all of his faith in humanity years ago. This just cemented it.

She looked up at him with her almond, amber eyes and he had to admit: beyond the scarf, she was probably quite lovely.

"Look, honey…" He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to piece together the right words. He hadn't been around people since…hell, he couldn't remember the last time he had some form of human interaction beyond guns and needles.

"I dunno why we're here. All I know is that we are, we gotta make the best outta it."

"But how? How _can_ we make the best out of a situation like this?"

Logan shrugged.

"Endure, hun. That's all we can do."

The corners of her mouth perked into a weary smile, and she nodded. They sat in silence, watching Calypso's chest rise and fall.

"You know…I never got your name." she said quietly.

"Logan." He extended a hand.

She grasped it in a strong shake. "Amelie."

* * *

The dialogue that opened up between then in the past few days was extraordinary. To listen to the two talk, it was almost like two old friends after years of absence. As time went on, they found common factors.

They both enjoyed a good smoke and beer, both held Canada close in their hearts (turns out, while she wasn't born there, her mother was, and she had relatives up there as well), neither could stand the music that guards that stood outside their cage played, both enjoy snowy weather, and both could go for a smoke and a beer _now_.

When food was brought to the cage, Amelie insisted that they sit in a circle, like one would do when at the dinner table. Logan was reluctant at first; He wasn't the best at "family dinners" on account that he couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down at one, but by the second dinner, the three of them started to talk as if they actually _were_ a family.

Logan had to admit: it was nice to be around people again.

* * *

One evening, Logan returned with a deep slice in his abdomen and Amelie insisted on examining it, despite his many reassurances that it would heal itself.

"Looks pretty deep. It needs to be sown back together."

"Fantastic deduction, Dr. Strange. But you don't-"

She suddenly thrust her hand into her scalp, and fished out a thin needle.

"Okay, then what about.-"

She pulled out a stray piece of string from the edge of her dress, and held them both out for him to examine.

"huh."

"Huh, indeed." She had chuckled, and immediately started at work. He lay back, defeated, and "enjoyed" her handiwork.

"So…any reason you got patchwork in yer hair?"

She smirked. "I learned in Vietnam. You aren't prepared, you get a bamboo stick through the gut."

He laughed. "Vietnam, eh? So, just how old _are_ you?"

"Now, now, you know better then to ask a lady that!"

"I'm not askin' a _lady_, I'm askin' you."

She scrunched up her nose, and pursed her lips (though, Logan noted with amusement, she was still smirking.)

"You watch it, or I'll find a vein and nick it."

"You wouldn't…" She paused, and cast him a look.

"Yeah, your probably would."

When she had finished, his healing factor was just kicking in. But, all that really had to be healed was the internal damage; most of the external wound had been quelled. When he examined her work he was beyond impressed, he was amazed. Rarely had he seen anyone other then a _qualified doctor_ make such neat stitches, and with such little blood spill. He wanted to tell her how much he liked her workmanship. He wanted to say how rarely he'd seen such good work. Maybe he was impressed because he hadn't seen a real doctor since god knows when, but, at that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered to him were the neat little stitches that now decorated his chest.

But she was already across the cage, tucking a raggedy blanket around Calypso's body. So, he didn't say anything. He just took his spot on the other side of the room, curled up, and watched as the two females drifted into slumber. And soon, he was also on that boat to Nod too.

* * *

His dreams had been…strange.

They always had been. Logan always wondered if, when he was young and stupid, he had just fallen asleep on top of an opened Dali book, and his mind had just absorbed that information and chose to repeat it every night. And then, he would wonder _why_ he was even _thinking_ in such complex arcs.

But that night, something was just off. It was like someone (or something) was sending him a message, a _warning_.

_A woman sits alone in a field of wild flowers. Her hair is long, shiny, and dark, like wet wood. She wears a white dress, and it pops out beyond all of the reds, blues, oranges, and yellows. Beyond that, a dark forest beckons, and wild animals pace in the trees, just waiting…and watching._

_ The smell…. oh god, what a smell! It smells like a battlefield, like the ground is soaked with blood…_

_ But when he looks around, he can only see flowers._

_ He approached the woman, and reached out, placing both hands firmly on her shoulders. She didn't scream, or jerk her arms away, and so, he leaned forward, and kissed the top of her head._

_ No reaction._

_ He grasped her hips, his hands settling comfterbly around their rounded shape. He kissed her neck, and he tasted blood._

_ In a panic, he turned her around…_

_ Her face had been torn off, only shreds of gushing flesh hanging off of strings of tendons…_

_ He's found the source of the smell…but, god, how he wished he hadn't…._

_ She reached out her hands, stripped of all skin, and now dripping and mussly, and let out a horrible scream and-_

_**RRRAAAAUUUGGHHHH!!**_

**"LOGAN!"**

The scratchy voice pulled him out of his daze. He was crouched on top of Amelie, one foot in the center of her chest, his claws unsheathed. The three claws literally trapped her neck, the center one barely cutting the skin. Tiny red droplets formed and ran down the length of her neck, mingling with her fur.

Amelie's lips seamed to tremble with fear.

"Logan…please…." She took a deep breath, and placed both hands around his shaking fist, trying in vain to move his hand away.

"Please…I….I can't _breathe…."_

Logan could hear her pleas. He could hear the struggled gasps, and the pained whimpers. But he couldn't _move._ It was like he was frozen in place.

"I can't….I can't-please, get off."

The claw pressed against her flesh, and the little droplets now turned to a small river. She pulled her hands up and placed them on his cheeks, her claws biting into his pale skin. She was begging, breathlessly, silently.

He would kill her…He would-

"M-Mr. Logan?"

Calypso's voice was more then enough to pull him back from his dream-induced haze. Amelie gulped the air, hacking and coughing, her neck still bleeding.

"Momma? What's going on?" Calypso's tail wound around her, and she held onto it for dear life. Logan couldn't piece words together, and closed and opened his mouth like a fish.

"It's okay baby." Amelie panted, glancing at the child. "It's all right, you go back to sleep."

The little girl hesitated. Then, with a quiet "Yes momma", she rolled over, curled her tail around her, and was fast asleep. They watched her for a short period, waiting for her to spring back up. All she did was sigh, and curl her tail more tightly around her.

They were both breathing hard. Amelie gently fingered the cut on her neck, and winced when she pulled back blood. She pulled the last of the cloth bandages across her neck, and tied it tightly.

"Are you all right?" She asked quietly, still tying the bandage, her eyes closed.

"Wha-Yer askin' _me_ if I'M all right?!" he exclaimed. "I just tried to _kill you_, I should be askin' you that!"

"So ask." She frowned

"…"

Her tone seamed so nonchalant, so…uncaring about the situation. Had she been asleep? Did she just forget?!

"Did I hurt you?" He mentally smacked himself in the head. What a stupid question; Of course he had!!

Her response surprised him.

"No, I think I'm all right. Just a little cut that's all." She smiled at him. Logan just stared…was she a masochist?! Didn't people usually show some sort of emotion after nearly being plowed through with claws?

She chuckled.

"Look, Logan." She leaned forward and took his hands in her tiny ones. "You had a nightmare, you thought I was someone else. It's okay. You're not the only one that's overreacted, you know." She squeezed his hands.

"Even though…I feel sorry for the person you _did_ mean to kill." She laughed, and rolled over on her back, staring at the concrete ceiling.

Silently, he nodded, and then began to scoot away, back to his little corner.

She grabbed his shoulder.

"This could be the dumbest decision I've ever made." She said quietly. "But it looks like you just need to be _near_ someone right now." She pulled gently on his shirt. He obliged slowly, and soon, they lay next to each other, both staring at the grey ceiling.

She spoke first,

"You know what?"

"What?"

"We're going to break out of here."

He sat up, flabbergasted. She still lay, staring at the ceiling.

"Yer not serious, are yeh? No one's been able teh break outta here."

"Have you tried?"

"Yeah…a few times. But they always found me." He lay back down.

"How many?"

"…5"

She snorted. "5 times?! Wow, you must be an expert about this place."

"Somewhat." He smirked.

"What made you not go for a sixth?"

"…" His smirk faded, and his face darkened. "Something…happened."

"Oh." Amelie knew when to not push it. This was one of those times.

"Well…this time, it's gonna work."

"Oh? And what makes yeh for sure?"

"Simple. You've got me!"

"Oy."

"No, no, I mean it!" She rolled over and propped herself up on her shoulders. "Look, I've been around for a while, and I've picked up some tricks from years past. It's all about strategic planning and follow through."

"Yeah, and what if yer "stragetic plannin'" falls though, eh? What then?" He growled.

"Brute strength."

He snorted.

"No, I'm not kidding. Listen to me, all we really have to do is get out of this cage. Once we do that, you can take care of the guards and doors all by yourself."

He chuckled, "You don't give up easily, do yeh?" He placed his arms behind his head, relaxing. "All right. We'll give it a try. It ain't gonna work…but, no harm in tryin'."

She thrust her hand over. "Shake on it."

He grasped her hand, and shook.

* * *

the partnership was formed.

* * *

Soundtrack:

Main Theme: Sleeping with Ghosts by Placebo


	3. It takes thought and time and rhyme

These characters don't belong to me. Only Amelie, Calypso, and any other character that you don't recognize.

* * *

It quickly turned cold in the cages. The onslaught of winter loomed above everyone's heads, and a deep depression sank into all of the residence's bones. Winter in the cages was no spring picnic. In fact, most were lucky to make it through the winter with only _one_ toe cut off. Frostbite, hypothermia, and death were common in the cages during the season.

No one knew that better then Logan. Around the change of seasons, he began to steal more and more bandages, just to use as a barrier between his limbs and the bitter cold. Sure, he could heal himself from things like nuclear bombs to spike pits, but nobody liked being cold. Amelie, who would often hide things under dress and in her hair, made this task much easier. Her return was literally like Christmas for the trio: wrapping bandages, paper, pencils, darning needles, and things of that nature.

One day, Amelie came back with a foxish grin on her face.

"Yer in a good mood." He peered over his book (from what little English Amelie could read, she noted that the lettering said: Walden) as Amelie was pushed into the cage. Calypso had curled up in Logan's lap, and was now fast asleep.

"I have a surprise for you, Logan." She giggled, walking to the back, and settling next to him.

"A surprise? Oh, well, ya do know how much I _love_ surprises." He sat up and stretched, his bones cracking loudly. Logan winced as a sharp pain ran up his back, and he sat back again. The experiments of the day, while not being invasive, had been a hassle indeed! He had had the Sisyphean task of running with what seemed like a boulder on his back for nearly four hours. By the end he was so tired that he'd flopped down on the cage floor, and fell asleep next to the already dozing Calypso (Amele had been taken for her own experiments earlier that day, and Calypso had been sleeping in the cage on her own, all day)

"Well, I hope you like these!"

From under her skirt, Amelie pulled out two cigarettes and a lighter. She held them out to Logan, who just stared at them.

"Go on then, they're not poison!" She dumped the prizes in his limp hand. He gapped at them in utter shock and held them close to his eyes. Could it be? Real cigarettes? Surely, this was just a cruel joke, right?

"What's the matter? Don't…Don't you like them?" Amelie sounded crestfallen. Her ears fell limply down the sides of her head.

"No, no, Darlin's, It's…God, this is…" He couldn't form words that could express that rare fountain of joy that sprung inside him.

So instead of using words, he threw an arm around her, and pulled her into his chest, inhaling the intoxicating sent of her hair. Amelie giggled like a schoolgirl, her cheeks flushing. Her ears popped back up ("Like popcorn" Logan thought humorously)

"So, you do like it?" She asked when he released his hold.

"'Course darlin'! Hadn't had a smoke since…Jesus! I can't even 'member when! But, how're we gonna explain the smell to Hitler out there?" He motioned to the door, where the supposedly German guard sat all night.

"Oh, don't worry about that." She waved her hand dismissively "It cost me a fortune, but I paid him off. Besides, he smokes outside the door. No one'll be able to tell the difference."

"What'd you give him?"

The crevices in her face seemed to deepen. Amelie smiled sadly, and then cocked her head to the side, closing her eyes, and widening her smile.

"It's not important."

Logan wasn't an idiot. He dropped the subject.

* * *

On Sunday's, the subjects were granted a chance to stretch their legs in a little courtyard in the Lab. Perhaps it was a way for the scientists to sleep easier at night; to prove to themselves that they weren't the monsters they really were.

Logan patted his front pocket, insuring that the two cigarettes were still there. He'd decided not to smoke them that night, and as the girls slept, formulated a plan in his head. Logan was not one to let his debts go unpaid, even if it was something as miniscule as this.

A man stood in the corner of the yard, with a small group around him. The subjects look around warily, watching the guards with narrowed eyes. When Logan approached, however, they began to shuffle away. Logan was well known for his violent temper; even the brain-dead patients knew not to piss him off.

Even with all of his money, no one could prevent Lex Luthor's confinement to the camps. But, even though the place was worse then hell, he was able to keep himself rather comfortable in one simple way: business. And him being a non-mutant, well, that helped greatly. He had friends in every lab across the United States; he had power over nearly every subject…all except for one.

And the one he didn't have power over was headed straight his way. Of course, he was terrified. Who wouldn't be when the Great Wolverine was headed right for you, with a look of utter seriousness on his face? But instead of cowering, he pulled himself up, stood as tall as he could, and smiled.

"Ah, Logan! What a surprise to see you here!" He chuckled lightheartedly. Logan didn't smile back.

"Look, Lex…I gotta proposition for yeh."

* * *

In a totally different courtyard, Amelie held Clapyso close to her breast, and walked warily around. The women of the laboratories went through a daily cycle of harassment, testing, and rape in the cages by not only the guards, but by test subjects that had been induced with a hormone increaser. Often, women would form into little bunches of three or four, and those who didn't find a group were left to wonder about aimlessly. Amelie had learned early on: every subject was dangerous. Thus, she never let Calypso leave her arms. He poor girl had nearly been kidnapped in the camps by a mad, grieving mother who confused the little pup for her own lttle girl. Needless to say, they had to clean the courtyard of the stray pieces of flesh and blood for the rest of the day.

A young girl, maybe not even 16, suddenly fell to her knees, and began to sob. Her hair was an unnatural magenta and shined like the sun. Her eyes were _all green_, the pigment not stopping at her irises but coating the whites of her eyes, and the pupils as well. The young girl's skin, which looked as if it were once an bright orange, now started to look more and more grey.

Amelie approached her and gently pulled her to a bench to calm her down. The girl sobbed against her breast.

"Why am I here, I have not done anything wrong!" She wailed.

"I know, honey. None of us have."

As she looked around, she felt more and more sick. The ages ranged so greatly, there was no medium for them all. Some on the women were very elderly and could barely walk on their own. On the other hand, there were young girls here that looked way to old for their age. Girls maybe 12, 13 years of age had grey hair and wrinkled faces.

Amelie buried her head in the young girl's hair, and sighed. She never thought she'd think it…but humans were a disgusting race.

* * *

As they returned to the cages in a neat, single-file line, Amelie's eye fell upon a woman that stumbled in the back. Her hair was a deep vermilion, and her skin was like the deepest ocean's blue. The woman looked as if she could barely walk.

It wasn't a surprise when she fell face forward onto the cold steel ground. A female guard stood over her, and screamed obscenities, and began to beat her with the back of her gun.

"Hey. Hey, cut it out!"

Amelie ran over to the fallen woman, and pushed the guard away. She knelt, and placed a firm hand on the blue woman, who gurgled at the touch and coughed up blood. Calypso whimpered, and clutched her mother's breast.

The guard stumbled back, an incredulous look on her face.

"What the fuck do you think your doing, freak?!" She screamed, and raised the butt of her gun to strike the wolf.

She didn't notice the brilliant flash of blue that looped itself around her neck and yanked. The female guard was tossed against a wall and her body left a deep imprint. There was a strange yelp from the guard as she hit the wall, and then a loud _crack!_

The guard fell to ground and flopped like a rag doll. Other guards ran to her side, shouting directions, screaming curses. The female guard's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and blood began to pool from her mouth. Her spine had all but shattered, and the limp remains of her body lay twitching on the floor.

Amelie watched quietly and then helped the blue-skinned woman up and back into the line as they continued their caravan to the cages. The blue-skinned woman said nothing and Amelie barely winced as the blue flame that has engulfed her left hand sunk back into her skin as if it had never been.

* * *

Amelie and the blue-skinned woman walked down the quiet corridors to the cages that were set apart from the kennels. The two were the last ones to be dropped off, and just like Amelie, the blue-skinned woman lived in the separated cages. Amelie was honestly surprised; the woman seemed too frail to be able to cause any major damage.

The guard (a man with salt-and-pepper hair and crisp blue eyes) stopped them at a steel door. He opened the cage door, and the blue-skinned woman stumbled forward. Amelie looked beyond her…

An animal was pacing the floor: a giant cat with two ivory fang-like-tusks growing downward out of its mouth. Its fur was a blinding golden color with flecks of brown in spots, and seemed to shimmer in the low light of the cage.

The cat turned when the door opened and growled deeply in its throat, it's eyes two hot coals that simmered on the face of the wild beast. The blue-skinned woman slowly walked in, dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around the animal. The cat sat back on its haunches, and placed a paw around the woman's body, in a seeming "Animal" hug.

The guard closed the door and locked it. He beckoned Amelie to follow.

"Guten Abend, Herr Soldier." [_Good evening, Mr. Soldier]_ She said quietly, bowing her head slightly.

"Guten Abend, Frau Amelie. Wie sind sie heute abend?"[_Good Evening, Miss Amelie. How are you this evening?]_

"Besser, jetzt, dass ich meine Beine gestreckt. Ich danke Ihnen nochmals für die Zigaretten, waren sie ziemlich behandeln."_ [__Better, now that I've stretched my legs. I must thank you again for the cigarettes; they were quite a treat]._

"Nun, Sie zahlen ganz gut für sie. Sie müssen mir sagen, wo Sie lehnte sich so gut Deutsch. Niemand in diesem Land scheint es zu wissen." [_well, you paid quite well for them. You must tell me where you've leaned such good German. No one in this country seems to know it]._ He smiked.

"Natürlich, solider, aber ein anderes Mal vielleicht. Gute Nacht." [_Of course, solider, but another time, perhaps. Good night.]_

"Gute Nacht, Frau Amelie." He opened her cell door, and closed it soundly behind her.

Logan was fast asleep when she entered. So, after placing the snoozing Calypso on his chest (he never seemed to mind), she curled up next to him, and went to sleep.

* * *

Of course, Logan was wide-awake when Amelie tiptoed into the cage and fell asleep next to him. After decades of tracking/hunting/living in the wild, he had become an extremely light sleeper.

Amelie apparently wasn't. Within a few seconds, she was snoozing quietly, and he had a chance to actually get a good look at her. She looked as emaciated as ever (shockingly, long work and little food actually _did_ make you skinny!) and twice as weary. Her fur drooped on her skeletal frame and was starting to become a dull grey. He turned to his side, with bent arm holding up his weary head. The girl was quite an oddity. But something about her presence was just so…comforting, was that the word? He didn't know. He wasn't a poet.

She slept like it was difficult. Amelie's face was a roving production of facial expressions, each more comical then the last. Logan enjoyed watching; knowing full well how perverted that sounded. It had nothing to do with perversion…it was just that he hadn't slept next to a warm body in so long he couldn't help but watch. And wonder…

Calypso hiccupped in her sleep, and turned over, her claws digging into his chest. It didn't bother him at all; the pup's claws were too dull to do any real damage. Logan chuckled, and pulled the pup closer to him, and slipped his hand under Amelie, holding her close. He could almost…almost remember when life had been this easy…

No, not easy…life was never easy. Not now, not ever. Well, at least not in Logan's memory.

And then, he began to remember.

He could remember that once he was married.

She was a beautiful Japanese girl, with soft eyes, and gentle features. He was in love, and they married, and they were going to have a child together.

Now she was dead, and his son…well, he didn't much like to think about it.

Besides…it was too late to think like that.

* * *

In the Labs, no one really knew when it was morning and when it was night. It was just assumed that when the guards threw food in the cages, the sun had at least risen to some extent. Of course, it varied greatly. Sometimes the guards would throw the food in early, sometimes exactly on time, and sometimes horribly late. It really did depend on the mood of the guards and the urgency of the day.

But Logan didn't wake because the guard had thrown in a pile that look, smelt, and tasted like dog food. This time, he woke because the guards were attempting to pull Amelie from his grasp.

He snarled at first, a basic warning: "Get you paws off of my girl." But he kept his eyes closed, and his arm around her. Perhaps this was just a dream?

They paused at first, and mumbled to one another.

_"Dude, this isn't a good idea."_

_**What the hell is wrong with you Jenkins? She killed Jenny."**_

_"Look man, you may wanna live in denial, but Jenny was asking for it."_

_**"What the **__**fuck**__** did you say?!"**_

_"I'm new here, and even __I__ know not to mess with this one. She's got these…these freaky powers, or something. Plus, your messin' with his girl, he ain't gonna like that much."_

_**"You got the **__**taser**__**, right?"**_

_"Yeah, but-"_

_**"Then shut your damn mouth, and help me out"**_

_"Okay…"_

The two began again, gently pulling her from his grasp. All the while, Amelie stayed in a deep slumber, whimpering every second or so.

Logan snarled again, and this time, his eyes shot open. The two guards (they were both in their late teens, early twenties. High school dropouts, from the look at them.) froze in their places.

"Shit man…I told you, I fucking _told_ you!" The shorter, fatter one sputtered.

"Shut up and taze him, douchebag!"

There was a zap, and then blinding pain. Logan was on his feet in seconds, roaring in fury. Calypso skittered across the room, her tail beneath her legs, and wailing in fright.

"_What the hell!?"_ was all Amelie had time to say before a bolt of electricity hit her in the back. She screamed in pain, and bowled over, clutching the scorch mark on her shoulder.

More guards ran into the hall, all with guns ready. The fat guard continued to scream "_I knew it, I knew it, we're screwed, we're so __fucked!_".

Logan impaled him with his claws first. The guard's voice was quite annoying.

Suddenly, it was death match. Guards jumped on him from all sides, each wielding their own bolt of electricity. He fought them off, but they continued to pile on. There were flashes of white, and more stabs of pain, and all he could do is roar and strike blindly. They tumbled out into the hall, giving them more space to fight. Blood splattered in all directions.

And soon, he wasn't the only one roaring. The second voice was more high-pitched and a little less gruff.

There was a flash of blue light, and a guard began to scream in agony. The flash of heat was enough to pause the fight.

Writhing at her feet was a guard that seemed alit with a blue flame. It engulfed his body in seconds, until all that was left of him was bones.

They all looked up at Amelie, who was watching with cold eyes at the smoldering remains. She looked up and snarled, blue flames now engulfing her hands.

"So…who's next?"

She screamed, and rushed into the fury, cutting guards with her blue flamed claws. Logan was close after with his own admantium-covered claws.

The fight was like a light show. Flashes of blue and white light everywhere, splatters of blood and flying body parts Calypso hid in the corner, but still shouted enragement.

"Go get 'em, Mommy!!" She cheered, daring to get closer to the battle. A guard was thrown against the back wall of the cage. His head turned in her direction, and he grabbed her forearm in a bone-crushing grip. Calypso screamed, and beat his arm with her tiny fists.

The guard laughed cruelly.

"MOMMY!" She screamed, as the guard lifted her up, and raised his gun to shoot the pup. Amelie turned, and gasped.

"Calypso, NO- _AHHH!!"_ A taser hit her square in the back. Suddenly, the electrifying bullet spread into ropes that binded her. She fell forward and howled in agony as the electricity pulsed through her body.

"Mommy, help!!" Calypso squirmed in the man's grip.

Logan turned, hearing the screaming, just as the man's head exploded.

Just like that, _exploded_ into a million pieces. Bits of skull and brain matter splattered around the room. Amelie roared, and struggled against the bonds.

"CALYPSO!" She screeched, just as another taser flew into the room and wrapped itself around the blood-soaked child. Logan had never heard such a pitiful scream, but when the taser hit the little girl, she let out a cry that would make the most hardened of criminals tear.

And, then all he saw was red.

* * *

"_What!?"_

Logan's eyes shot open. They danced in his head and his mind _throbbed_. The smell of blood stained his nose and he winced when he inhaled again.

All three were laddended on uncomfortable cots. Amelie and Calypso had oxygen masks on their faces and IV's stuck in their arms. Logan let out a brief sight of relief: They were in the infirmary, a so-called "safe haven" for the test subjects.

A doctor was looking over Logan, scribbling down on his clipboard.

"Your awake, eh? Welcome back." The man had messy brown hair, small-framed glasses and aged blue eyes.

"_Joh…Jonathan_…"

Logan looked back to Amelie, who was weakly raising her hand. The doctor (who Logan assumed was named Jonathan) hurried to her side, and quietly talked to her, adjusting her bed sheets and messing with her IV.

"I haven't introduced myself yet." The doctor turned, and extended a calloused hand.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane. I'm the main doctor here."

"Yeah…Logan." He grumbled, his eyelids starting to act funny. One began to close, while the other stayed open and trembled.

"I've never seen you here before. I'm not surprised, however. Your healing power overloaded today, and it's going to take a few days of recovery to get back in sinc."

Logan didn't say anything. He just rested back against the bed, and squeezed his eyes shut. He was beginning to see double and to made his head hurt.

"Need a painkiller?"

He nodded slowly, and gently grasped the cup that Crane had handed him. Three pills slid around in it, and he swallowed them whole, the phlegm in his throat easing them down.

He blacked out.

* * *

"So, doctor, what've they got yeh in here fer? 'N how d'ya know Amelie? "

Logan sat cross-legged atop the cot's covers. He dangled a piece of string to Calypso, who reached up from her comfortable spot in Logan's lap, lazily attempting to grab said string.

Crane was checking Amelie's vitals again. Of the three, she was the last to wake up, and they waited anxiously for her return to the land of the living.

"I'm surprised you don't know…" he muttered, checking her pulse against the infirmary's clock. It was hours behind, saying that it was actually 1 in the morning, despite it being at least near 5 in the afternoon.

"I'm sure you've heard of me before…does "The Scarecrow" ring any bells?" He turned, and leaned against Amelie's bedpost, crossing his thin arm's across his chest. His body was obviously emaciated, his bones poking through the pale skin.

Logan thought carefully, pulling the string higher in the air. Calypso groaned, and reached up higher.

"Come ta think of it, I do 'member hearin' something about some "Scarecrow" in…Gotham City, or sometin' like that."

"Yeah…" Crane blew a stray piece of hair from his face and coughed into his fist.

At first, Logan didn't understand. Then, it hit him like a rock. He raised his eyebrows, and nodde slowly, chuckling.

"So…didn't know we were in the presence of a "Great Super Villain"!" he feigned surprise.

"How's that workin' for yeh?"

Crane snorted, and looked back to Amelie.

"It's working _just fantastically,_ you overgrown sheepdog." The thin man snapped back. Logan pretended to be hurt.

"Still don't answer my second question, though." Logan leaned back and continued to play with Calypso. The little girl yawned, and curled up in his lap, quickly falling asleep.

"Well…I met her when I was first starting collage at Gotham. She was a student there, and the only person that didn't treat me like an outcast. Maybe because she was one too…either way, when she came back to Gotham, she…helped me get back on track…" He looked back to the bed, and gently rearranged the hair on her face. Suddenly, he winced and shook his head, sadly placing a hand on her cheek. Logan leaned as far as he could, but still couldn't see what Crane was wincing at.

He noticed. "She still hasn't shown you, has she?"

"Shown me _what_, bub?" Logan growled.

Crane said nothing. He just sighed, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"It isn't my place to say. She's the one that needs to tell you…but…" He stood, and walked to the next room, where his other patients lay.

"Those bastard's are going to hell for what they've done to her."

* * *

"When's mommy gonna wake up?"

It was the third night in the infirmary, and Amelie _still_ hadn't woken. Logan had gone from calm, to worried, to anxious, to downright…he pursed his lips, and finally admitted it…

He was _scared._

The entire day, he sat by her bed, his hand clasping her tiny paws. He stared at that one spot, the side of her face that was thinly covered with hair. Normally, her scarf would have hidden the spot, as only her eyes were visible behind the thick, burlap-like fabric. But now, he was able to see _everything_.

Well, almost everything.

"I dunno, honey…" He gently lifted the girl up, and gently placed her in his lap as he flopped on the cot, one leg curled around her, the other hanging off the side of the bed.

"I wish I did, but.." He sighed, scratching the back of her head.

"What's wrong with her? Doesn't she wanna come back?" Calypso looked over to the sleeping form.

"I'm sure she does, pup. But…ah, well, here's the thing." He looked down at the pup, watching her eyes closely. "Sometimes…sometimes, when a person gets hurt, they go to sleep, right?"

Calypso nodded.

"Well, with some people, it takes longer fer them teh recover then others…Her body's gotta fix it's system before it let's her wake up."

"Like a computer!" Calypso declared, her smile as wide as her face.

"Yeah, that's right, like a com-what's wrong?"

Within seconds, Calypso had crumpled, and was now wailing bitterly.

"Calypso, what's wrong?! 'R you sick, what-" He was now on the side of the bed, knelling so that he could look at her at eye level.

"No, I'm fine." She sniffled, wiping away fat tears. "But, I want mommy! I'm scared, I want mommy!" a fresh wave a tears started again.

Logan couldn't help but smile. He gathered the little girl in his arms, and held her close as she cried, gently stroking her hair, and easing her fears away. He walked around the room, cradling the little girl, and whispering sweet words. Children had a certain effect on him, especially ones with little fuzzy ears, and pink noses, and fluffy tails that often got fluffy enough to spark electricity.

Calypso had a calming effect on his frayed nerves, and he _loved her._

"You wanna hear a story?"

She looked up and nodded slowly, sniffling.

He sat back on the bed, and crossed his legs, looking to the grey ceiling.

"Okay…here we go." He gave a great sigh, and began quite simply.

"One upon a time, when I was a lot younger, I met this beautiful woman by the name of Mariko…and I loved her, and even though she's not with me anymore, I still remember her, and love her to this day…well, it all started like this…"

* * *

_There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~John Gregory Brown, __Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery__, 1994 

* * *

_

She was finally asleep. Resting in his arms, Calypso sucked on her thumb, and breathed as soft as a spring rain

He watched her sleep and smiled. Gently, he kissed the top of her head, like a father would kiss his own daughter, and tucked her into the scratchy linins.

"Don't think I didn't see that, Mr. Sensitive."

Logan looked over to the second bed. Amelie's eye (her visible one) stared at him through half closed lids. She smiled weakly, and raised a hand in a slow wave.

"How _you_ doin'?" she joked, her hand flopping back down near her.

"Good. Better now that yer back…how was the other side?"

She chuckled. "Boring as usual. But very pretty…I'll have to take you there someday."

"Hopefully not to soon."

"Yeah…"

They sat in a comfterble silence.

"_obrigado__"_ she whispered.

"_What?_" Logan cocked an eyebrow.

"Thank you." She said louder.

"Oh…fer what?"

"Calypso…"

"You were…?"

"Yeah. That's the funny thing about us…I can always hear here, no matter what." She gave a gentle shrug.

"…heh."

"What?"

"Nothing."

It was quiet once again. Amelie groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Then she gasped and threw a hand against her covered eye, as if expecting the hair to be pushed back.

"Don't worry, I didn't see anything."

She sat up on her elbows, and stared at him, seemingly shocked.

"_Huh?!"_

"I. Didn't. Look. What, you want me to do this in sign language?"

She just stared, shocked. Then, she lay back against the cot, trying to make sense of the situation. Then she sat back up, and looked at him, with a face Logan couldn't read.

"Why…Why'd you do that?" She whispered. Logan raised his eyebrows. Obviously, he was confused: didn't women _like_ their privacy?

"Well, I _assumed__-"_

"No, no, no, you're not understanding me!" She waved a hand dismissively, and sat all the way up, wincing as her ribs howled in pain.

"You _didn't look__…_I was in a coma, and you didn't take that chance to see what they did to…" She looked down at her hands as they wrung together.

"You didn't look at my eye?"

"Course not. Ain't my place." He said simply. He'd known that something had happened to her eyes even since she stepped foot in his cage; it was as plana s day! He could see a bit of a scar peaking lower then her scarf could cover. But he never said anything about it, despite his curiosity nearly getting the best of him at times. He knew what it was like to have someone invade his deepest scars. He wasn't going to do that to anyone else…especially to her.

Amelie was flabbergasted. She blushed a deep crimson (despite what Logan had originally speculated, one really _could_ see a wolf blush through all that fur) and began to toy with the ends of her hair.

"Thank you…for not…" She bit her lip.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

They stayed in the infirmary for the next day, enjoying the serenity of the little paradise. By the mid morning, Amelie could get up and walk around for a few seconds, before beginning to stumble, in which Logan would gently grasp her arm and lead her back to her bed.

It wasn't very eventful. A man came in with a swollen eyeball that gushed a sickly pink fluid, and a young girl hobbled in with a foot twisted in the wrong direction, but other then that, it seem as if it were another normal day in the infirmary.

"So, tell me, Jonathan…" Amelie said while chewing minotonetly on her lunch (today was chicken soup day: everyone in the facility awaited Chicken Soup Wednesday with baited breath, as the chicken soup in the Labs was downright superb. The rumor was that there was a world-class chef that was transferred to the Labs that often would cook for the soldiers, but that was as far as Amelie knew)

"How _did_ you get transferred here? I thought you were shacking with Bruce!"

Jonathan sighed, and nudged a stray piece of chicken breast that floated in the stock.

"I don't know. One day I got a letter that they needed to check my blood again, and the next I was sent here!" He motioned around the infirmary with thin arms.

"Does Bruce know?"

Jonathan laughed. "Probably not. One of the guards told me that they sent him a "handwritten" letter saying that I was going to be away for a while."

When Amelie's eyebrow's shot up, he nodded and looked back to his soup.

"Yes, that's what they've started telling the "Pure" part of the population."

* * *

That Sunday they were transferred to a new cell. It was slightly bigger, with a tiny, hand-sized window that let in a little light. The German guard welcomed Amelie back kindly, tipping his hat to her and the little girl.

It was almost like going into a new home. The girls ran round and round the larger cage, feeling every crook and cranny. Logan laughed: it 's amazing what would make people happy. What free people took for granted, those who had been confined in the clutches of the cages celebrated when there was a little hunk of meet in the clear broth they were usually given.

Amelie kissed him gently when they came to take the trio to the courtyard. It wasn't anything very special: just a little peck. But it still had Logan floating all the way to the courtyard.

* * *

"Ah, Logan, how good to see you!" Lex said, his mouth curled into a sinister smile. "Your package came in."

He pushed the brown-papered parcel package towards him. It was tiny: barely the size of Logan's hand. He grasped it tightly, and nodded.

"Thanks, Lex."

"Anything to keep a customer happy."

* * *

Amelie was in the cage before him. She looked up, and smiled, her eyes shining. Logan grinned, and met her with open arms. They hugged briefly and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, just as gently as before.

"I gotta surprise fer you two."

"Really? Well, you know how much I love surprises!" She smiled. Amelie had decided to forgo to the scarf, saying it made her look too old. Now, her long hair ran down her back (Just like Logan, her hair grew quickly and wildly. There was no shaving it off) Still, her scarred eye was still covered with the bark colored hair. It didn't matter though: she looked beautiful without it.

"Then, I hope you like these" he handed the parcel to her. She took it, her face expressing her amused confusion. Calypso clung to the edge of her skirt and looked up, trying to see what was in the package.

Amelie cocked an eyebrow at him, smiling gently, and pulled the string off the package. The brown paper fell to the floor, along with the rough string that held it together.

She gasped, holding up two scarfs. Tears came to her eyes and began to leak down the sides of her cheeks. Calypso squealed in delight, jumping up and clapping her hands together. Amelie whirled around and leapt into Logan's arms, kissing his face.

"My god! Oh, god sent these scarves through you Logan, you wonderful man!!" She wailed. Logan chuckled, hugging her back.

Dinner that evening was better then usual. For one thing, the girls were much, much warmer. On top of that, a little sausage came with the daily broth and bread. They cut it up and shared.

That night, as Calypso slept, Logan and Amelie talked. Just the regular chit-chat of bedmates (well, under the current circumstances, floormates)

Then, Logan fell quiet. And then he laughed.

"What?" Amelie giggle.

"Oh, it's nothing…it's just…" He gently placed his thumb under her chin, closely looking at her face. She wasn't amazingly beautiful. But, there was just something about the wolf, maybe her supple lips, maybe her mischievous grin, maybe her eyes that shone like the moon.

"I was right…you really _are_ a looker 'neath that thing."

She blushed.

Her eyes shone, big, golden, mysterious…he saw the moon in them.

* * *

* * *

Hope you all enjoyed :)

Yeah, I decided that I was going to throw a few more fandoms in the mix. Anyone wanna suggest any to me, I would love to hear them! We've got a few fandoms already planned, but I could always use some more!

Johnathan Crane, Lex Luthor, and the third one (I'll let you all debate who that one is ;D ) belong to DC Comics.

Logan and the blue-skinned woman (Give it a guess ladies and gents) belong to Marvel

Amelie Gabriel and Calypso Gabriel belong to me, Whistler (aka Spiritlobo, Aka Nacodalupine)

Anyone who wants to draw a cover for this, I would greatly appreciate it!

Ciao!

* * *

Soundtrack:

Main theme: Sleeping with Ghosts~ Placebo

Bedtime story:

"Young Folks" ~Peter, Bjorn, and John

"Hong Kong", ~Gorillaz

"I couldn't love you more" ~Sade.

The Gift:

"Turn off the light" ~Nelly Furtado

Eyes like the Moon

"Optimistic" ~ Radiohead


	4. To make a poem sing

Notice: the uneditied version of 'Plague Dogs' will be posted on .

Logan belongs to Marvel

The doctors, the nurses, the guards, Amelie, and Calypso belong to me. Any other characters will belong their own creators. Thank you.

* * *

Snow was on the horizon. Logan could smell it.

Without a doubt, winter was coming faster and faster, on the feet of quick-soled deer. He could see it through the tiny window, the big, dark clouds rolling in, slowly but surely. They looked almost like grapes, each mound rolling over one another, all hurrying to be first.

The window was a great improvement, Logan noted happily (or, as happily as one in his situation could be). For days afterward, he just sat at the window and stared out into the sky (for, strangely, that was the only thing they could see) watching the clouds pass and the sun and moon rise and fall. He hadn't seen the sky in…well, years. Logan felt like a young child in an art exhibit: every different scene was a strange, new, and exciting thing. He'd wanted to reach out and touch the fluffy clouds…but the dirty glass halted his pursuit, and so, he stroked the glass lovingly. It wasn't the same as the clouds, but it was just as fulfilling.

But now, there was only the impeding doom of winter. Every year was a horror story for the subjects, blackened fingers, toes, and noses, dismembered and mutilated joints suffering from extreme frostbite, awful illness that spread like wildfire…and of course, every year had it's different share of troubles, and this year was just as bad. The blankets that had been passed out one evening all had to be returned, half the cages were (and painstakingly) thoroughly cleaned, and most of the children in the cages were gassed and taken to the crematorium.

The culprit?

_Lice_

Typhus ran ragged in the labs, mad like dogs. Walking down the hall, one could hear the coughs, and the hacking, and the moans, and groans. The skeletons of people stumbled and tripped throughout the halls.

But, something was different…worse. This typhus was stronger, quicker...

Deadlier.

The advanced strain caused seizures, bright red star-like spots to appear on the skin that felt like open sores, a sensitivity to light that became bad enough to knock a full grown man unconscious, catalepsy, and hematemesis…possibly the worst symptom of them all.

"Quit pacin' like that, yer makin' me nervous." Logan growled, chewing on his inner lip. Amelie mumbled something that sounded like "Bite me" and continued to pace the floor, as she wrung her hands together.

"M-M-Maybe it's not even a real experiment!" She whimpered, her wrists starting to make a sharp _click_ noise every time she twisted them in her hands. "I mean, she's been gone _all day_, what could they-" She let out an exasperated cry, and threw her hands over her head. She swerved to the door and screamed:

"_Where's my daughter, you bastards!?"_

Logan rose quickly, and pulled her into the back of the cage.

"Yeah, Amelie, that's eh GREAT idea!" He snipped, pulling her to sit next to him. The look she shot at him could freeze fire in it's place. "Look, I know yer worried, I am too. But, yer gonna have to trust that every things gonna be all right."

His words rang true, but Amelie still brought her hands to her face and began to sob, her body shaking with ever breath.

"She's all I've got!" She wheezed between sobs. "If I loose her, I…" the thought was too painful to continue.

Logan could sympathize. At the beginning of the great purge, many people, good, great, amazing, people had ended up in places like these, tiny cages, freezing cold, with nothing to eat other then molding meat that curdled in the belly.

He sighed into her hair.

"Babe, yer going to have to stop fightin' the current. Yer just hurtin' yerself."

She laughed wearily.

"My dear, I've been fighting the current since I was 14 years old. It's going to be hard to stop now."

He looked down at her curiously. And she looked back up at him, bleary eyed and red nosed.

"Don't tell me you don't remember me?" She whispered. "1944, Poland-"

"_Sobibor._" He finished. He sighed deeply, and held her closer to his chest. "All these years…I wondered what happen'd to yeh…Lot's changed, hasn't it?"

She looked away, back to the steal door. Three separate bars of light fell through the small window bars on the door. Dust particles floated about, curling around flying about, free and wild.

"Yes. It has."

* * *

She was thin, emaciated. Her hair was long, tangled, dark like the wet bark of a tree. She had fur, instead of skin, a result of her ability to disguise herself, he'd assumed. Her eyes were bleary, clouded almost. But they still glowed that hue that had attracted him the first place. It was that girl, the one that had walked around the camp with gauze wrapped around her feet, her dress speckled with blood and dirt, and other unmentionable things. The one that had cared for the prisoners like they were all worth something, be they Jew or pole or gypsy or whatever. The one that gave body and soul, for those who she hadn't even known.

She had whispered to him in the dark of the night she wasn't one of this world: She wasn't a "human", she was _different._ _"Not new, but Old, or in laymen's terms, old AND new." _Her voice traveled through thin lips, cracked and dry, but still quite hypnotizing. She was an agent of another country, sent to collect data of another kind. He'd thought her crazy: a result of constant work and little food. It was like a story out of a science fiction book: an alien race sent out amongst the "normal folk" Years later, when he really thought about the matter, it made perfect sense. He wasn't exactly considered "normal" himself.

The girl that lay against is chest was older. She was wiser. She was matured. But he could smell the youth that emitted from her breath. In the dark confides of the medical barracks he had kissed her, despite the taste of death that had seeped into his mouth, despite that fact that she was still young. They clung to each other in the face of death itself, whose chilly breath ran down their backs and chilled them to the bone and froze the blood.

That hadn't mattered. There hadn't been any time to matter.

And as the internment camp fell down around them, she kissed his cheek, and promise that she'd find him someday.

"_In the future."_ She'd whispered, before taking off the others.

He'd assumed that she had been killed when the group reached the landmines that had been scattered around the camp.

So he'd forgotten about her: she was dead and gone and nothing would bring her back. And he forgot about her, placing her in the mental files of women he had loved and had died as a result.

* * *

Much like the others in her family, Amelie had the ability to mimic "human skin", a disguise that enabled her ability to live around the humans for so long. It was an easy process, not created by magic, but by illusion, an illusion that only animals knew of. Rarely, very rarely, a human could understand the transformation, thus resulting in the small population of half animal half human children that so vastly roamed her island home of Philoctetes.

Ah, Philoctetes…how she longed to be on the crystalline beaches once more, or in the lush jungles and vast planes. Or, maybe even in the crystalline city far up in the mountains, where the sun made the crisp white snow bleed colors: red and blue and green and violet. As an intellectual, she knew that this was just a result of wavelengths reflecting off the white (or something like that. She wasn't a scientist) but the child in her didn't care for wavelengths and frequency and things of that nature. All she cared about was the rainbows that reflected against her face and made her feel like a goddess.

Her daughter hadn't been born on the shores of Philoctetes. She had been born in a tiny, dirty medic barrack, her sobbing cries and pained screams soaking into the waning wood. And the next day, when she was forced back into the salt mines, she clutched said daughter to her breast, covering her sensitive eyes and nose from the flying salt and rock. And when she was pushed onto a truck heading for Crimson Falls Libratory on a small island off the coast of Florida, she promised the little girl that she would never let her be subject to the same torture that she'd been subject to for years.

And now as they lay together, huddled together, head to breast, hearts beating as one, breath flooding and receding collectively, she had to force herself to believe that her connections with the German would save the child for the true horrors that the Libratory had to offer.

* * *

Sobbing, shaken, and bleeding from a nasty gash on the arm, Calypso was returned to the cell later that night, leaping right into her mother's arms. She babbled in a quick-tongued language Logan couldn't understand, and buried her head into Amelie's chest, her dress soaked in tears. She soothed the child, holding her close, responding in the language that greatly confused Logan. The German spoke quickly and quietly, his German almost sounding like gibberish. Amelia spoke back, angered, upset, confused. Her voice changed dialect quickly, going from her daughter's soft-tongued language, to the rough tongue of German.

Finally, she sighed, shook her head, and placed a heavy hand on the German's shoulder, thanking him quietly. He nodded, and gently grasped her hand. The German looked up at Logan, nodded, and bid his farewell.

"What happin'd?" Logan promptly demanded as the German locked the door.

"He says they inserted something into her-not like that." She snapped at Logan's horrified look. "A medication, insemination, he really didn't know."

He ran a hand through his hair, matted and wild. Calypso sniffed gently, and then turned and made the "gimmie" hands that she so often did. He smiled gently, an odd, half smile that made him look less disgruntled. Amelie handed the child to him, the weariness in her eyes fading almost. Almost immediately, the child fell asleep, snoring slightly, her hair tangled against his blood-stained wife-beater.

Logan looked up at Amelie, and Amelie looked back. And, saying nothing, they moved to the back of the cage, curled against one another and promptly went to sleep.

* * *

_whomp._

_Whomp_

_Augh!! Stop it!_

_Shut up. Shut up!_

_Please, stop it! I'm sorry, I won't-_

_Your damn right you won't. Shut UP!_

_ WHAMP._

_ AUGH! **__**Sobbing****_

They watched the wall quietly, just staring, staring, as if the fight was going to break through the steel and tumble into their tiny cell. Logan felt her grip his shirt tightly and he looped his arm around her arm, pressing Calypso closer to her breast.

_Please…please…I'm, I'm-_

_I. Said. SHUT. UP._

And, then it sounded like the breaking of glass. And then a sickening splat. A few seconds passed, and then-

_AAAAUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!_

The scream echoed through the hall. The guard was beating her furiously, each punch, each kick, resounding deftly. The woman on the other side of the wall screamed over and over again, pitched running up and down a ladder of sheer pain. She was sobbing, and screaming, and crying, and begging "please, please" over again, begging the guard not to kill her, not to kill her, to spare her, please, to spare her. And soon, it had changed, going from "Please don't kill me," but to "Please, I'm pregnant."

Amelie found Logan's hand, and clutched at it, fearfully staring at the wall.

The punches stopped. He was panting, and she was sobbing, seemingly doubled over.

He was muttering something to himself: _this can't be real…she's lying…she'….lying…lying-_

_YOUR FUCKING LYING, YOU BITCH!_

Her hysterics had begun again, pleading, beginning him to spare her. _NonoI'mnotI'mnotlyingpleasedon'tkillmepleasedon'tkillme_

_SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!!_

She screamed even louder now, and suddenly.

Blam.

There was a splatter. Amelie gasped, and covered her mouth with a stray hand. She shook her head in disbelief, in shock.

"Why…didn't anyone stop him?" She asked to no one in particular, still staring at the wall. She turned her head into his chest, tears leaking down her shallow cheeks.

Logan said nothing. Just buried his head in her neck, and squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn't happening, he repeated to himself. This was just a dream, just a fucking dream, just a fucking nightmare, one fucking mother of a nightmare, and he was just going to wake up, he was going to wake up, and everything was going to be okay.

There was talking in the hall. And soon, the guard was sobbing loudly, and another gunshot resounded. They shook together as the bullet hit, embedding itself into the ceiling.

There was shouting now. The German was shouting orders, telling the other guards to calm down, to stop shouting; they were going to scare the prisoners.

"Screw the prisoners, Jenkin's just punched his own ticket, man!!" One of them screamed at the top of his lungs.

Calypso stirred against her mother's breast, and whimpered slightly.

"My god…" Amelie leaned back, her head settling against Logan's chest. He shook his head, and then turned her against the back wall, away from the noise, away from the chaos. Just the three of them, together, huddled in a corner, away from the madness of man.

* * *

The German awoke them the next morning, holding a small bundle of crusted bread, his own personal apology. Amelie, who had stayed awake the night through, her nerves too frayed to conceder sleep, greeted him kindly. He looked sickly, his silver hair ruffled.

"Guten morgen, mine frau." He said quietly, handing her the bundle. It settled in her hand, a few crumbs falling to the ground.

"Thank you, sir. Your very kind." Amelie bowed her head, and turned back to her sleeping companions, placing the bread in Calypso's upturned hand. She turned back to the German, who was watching quietly.

"What happened last night?" Amelie looked beyond him.

The blood still stained the walls, sloppily cleaned, with red streaks still on the floor and paneling. The German seemed to wince suddenly. He raised his hand to stroke the wet _splat_ that had fallen down upon him. He brought it back and grimaced.

She looked at him, frightened, almost.

He smiled gently, and pointed to the top of the doorway. "Brains. They did not do a very thorough job."

Amelie nodded slowly. Her lupine eyes were accented by blackish circles that reminded him a raccoon.

"Who was she?"

The German shrugged sadly. "A young girl, barely into her youth-"

"Sir?"

The German scowled, and turned.

"_What?!"_ he snapped, his body blocking the curious guard's sight into the cage.

"We-We're moving Subject 554 to the crematorium, sir. You told us to let you know when-"

"Fine, fine, just do your job, and don't interrupt me again."

The guard winced, but saluted all the same, and turned his attention to the bundle that lay in the center of the hall.

Amelie silently crept behind the guard and watched under his arms (he was around 6"4, she was barely 5"0).

The guard dragged the large, wrapped up bundle down the hallway. Out of the bundle, a peak of lime green hair was pulled out, painting the hallway with red.

Amelie felt sick to her stomach. The German shook his head, and heaved a sigh. The guard, his face contorted with a look of disgust and mild curiosity, heaved the body into the next hall, the hall with the black stripes. She waited until he was out of earshot to exhale the breath she didn't know she was holding in.

"Was she lying? Was she really-"

"Pregnant?" The German gave a short bark of a laugh. "Yes. A blind man could tell, my dear. Six mon-"

There was a quiet growl in the dark of the cage. Logan stirred in his sleep, still clutching the tiny girl in his arms. They both fell silent catching their breaths in their throats. But, all he did was sigh, and turn over onto his side, his back facing away from the doorway.

"I think that is my que, my dear." He tipped his hat to her, and walked out, shutting the door behind him. The _chink_ of the lock echoed in Amelie's head.

"You gotta real friend there, Babe."

She jumped, crying out in surprise. Logan smiled toothily, propping his head up on his upturned hand.

Her hand still at her chest, she slipped back into his awaiting arms.

"Yes. Loyalty is a commodity here." She said, "I'm very lucky to have met him."

"You still payin' him?" The venom in his voice stung like a slap. She bit the inner of her lip to force the pain back down.

"No. He says he likes having someone here to talk to."

"I'm sure."

With that, Logan pulled her against him, laying her head on his chest, and promptly falling back asleep. As the rays of a new sun gently caressed her face, she listened to his steady heartbeat _thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud_

And, soon, she was sleeping as well.

* * *

Logan watched her breathe. The pungent smell of blood burnt his nose: Late twenties, female, fertile. The night hadn't been new, but it was still hard to comprehend. Cruelty at it's highest, it's most potent.

The saliva in his mouth turned sour (he was _making_ it sour).

So, he concentrated on other things. The walls. The door. The grey skies that now dropped its snowy children onto the earth. Amelie.

She was so _strange_. But very resourceful, when it came down to survival. His last cellmate hadn't really known what to do, and in the end…it had destroyed her.

Was the love that he had felt for her as a youth still there?

Well, Logan couldn't really give a straight answer. He'd always been quick to fall in love; underneath the steely exterior lay a fragile mind, and an even more delicate heart.

There had been other women. More beautiful women. Women with wild intentions, wild actions. They had been dangerous, deadly, and feral without a word. And they were easily bought. All of his relationships had been (Mystique was a prime example)

Only a rare few had been real, despite ill fated (he still smarted when and…

He couldn't say her name. It hurt too much to pass the words over his lips. But he did anyways.

"_Jean_."

* * *

When he had first been thrown into the Labs, he had a partner with him. She was young, beautiful, with vibrant red hair, and stunning green eyes that pierced the soul, and powers she (nor anyone else) could dream of containing.

And in the end, when she finally met her death, those powers weren't enough to save her from the sheer cruelty of man.

* * *

"_A vivisection, you troglodyte!" The doctor had laughed, forcing his head against the glass window. There, lying as still as dawn against the steel slab, lay the once powerful Jean Gray. Dead. Subject to an experiment that seemed to cruel to exist. The guard later told him that she had died 30 minutes after they began the experiment._

_ She must have thrown up during the process. The smell was so intense of innards and blood, and acid, Logan almost felt like vomiting himself. _

_ He looked away from the bloody mess. Her eyes…those piercing green eyes, they must be still there, right? __Right?!_

_They weren't. They were gone, destroyed, just another piece of the bloody masterpiece the scientists had created._

"_Whatsa matter, Wolverine? Can't look at a little "scientific experiment"? Isn't this what you've done to so many others?!" The scientist screamed. Logan couldn't concentrate, his mind still thick with the sight of Jean's grizzly demise. It was just too much to handle, to much to take._

_ The scientist gave a sardonic laugh. "All you mutants are good for is research. That and nothing else."_

_

* * *

  
_

"Logan, please, you've got to wake up."

He was jolted awake by the whisper against his ear.

The German stood against the doorway, looking around impatiently.

"Please, my dear, you must hurry. The other guards are getting suspicious, and they are _trigger happy!"_ He snapped, before turning to the gather line outside.

"Please, one more minute. He's waking up!" She cried back, yanking him up.

"Where's the pup?" He grumbled, as she dragged him by the arm into the blinding corridor light. He hissed slightly, and placed a hand in front his face.

"She's with the other children, now shut up and move!" She snapped quietly, pushing him ahead of her in the line.

"Wha-"

"We're going to the showers, now _shut up!_" She accented her demand with a pinch on the arm (it didn't hurt. It actually tickled a bit)

* * *

"Yeh got thirit'e minut's te wash yer filthy selves!" The main guard with a bostonian accent had shouted.

The water sprayed out of the nozzles on the ceiling. It was cold. Bloody cold. _Witches Teat _Cold.

But they only had 30 minutes to wash the caked on dirt and grime that made the skin itch so.

This task was made difficult when the squeezed hundreds of prisoners into separate rooms: women on one room, the men in the second.

This task would have been made easy for Amelie: she'd showered with women before. She'd showered with women many times.

But this was different: in some strange twist of fate, Amelie had been shoved with the men, to bathe with _them_. Humiliated, shamed, and embarrassed, she stripped naked, and flinched when the icy water sprayed from the ceilings.

Logan kept a close eye on her, dissuading any ill-ventured attempts on her person by a mere flick of icy blue eyes.

She stayed by his side. And, taking up a large greenish bar, began to scrub the filth from her body.

Her hands stopped when it fell jagged scar on her inner thigh that twisted around her hips like a snake. This wasn't a battle scar. This wasn't a war wound…she had plenty of those, and they were much smaller.

No, this was when she thought she had fallen in love.

And when love decided to play with knives.

She let the water cascade in down her hair, and she could almost hear the repeated mantra

She closed her eyes, the water so loud so strong.

"_No, no, no, no-"_ the memory came flooding back in waves.

* * *

"_Stop it, PLEASE STOP IT!!" She screeched, the belt slapping against her naked hips, welts forming and bleeding._

_ "Quit cryin', QUIT CRYIN'!! ENOUGH!"_

_ She screamed louder then she thought possible. The lamp overturned and shattered against the wall. He grabbed her by the neck and bashed her head against the wall. The plaster fell apart._

_ She coughed up blood, and sobbed pitifully. He was screaming her name, demanding her attention, demanding her rise to her feet and face him._

_ Amelie had thought that he'd loved her. He'd said it so many times. Every time he'd come home and he'd beat her. And then he'd return with flowers, or candies, or cards with puppy dogs with big eyes that said "I lub u, do u stil lub me?", or some shit that he had pulled out of the dog's ass._

_ He'd even given her an emerald broach: using money she knew they didn't have._

_ "Get UP!"  
"I CANT!!" she screamed back, blood and snot running down her cheeks and choking her._

_ This wasn't what he wanted to hear._

_ So grabbed her by her hair, dragged her to the toilet and proceeded to force her face into the water ("You dirty whore, you wanna be dirty, then I'll clean you with dirty water!!")_

_ He grabbed dish soap from the sink (The only type of soap they could afford) and forced it into her mouth ("drink it, DRINK IT YOU SLUT!")_

_ She choked, begging him to stop, begging him to slow, begging him to do ANYTHING other then what he was doing right now. Her throat throbbed, her stomach clenched, and she vomited._

_ He was angrier then he was at any other point._

_ And, then suddenly, she was angry. And she felt this overwhelming power flood her nerves and her body and…_

_ And then, she didn't remember. All she did remember was waking up, his bloodied corpse sprayed everywhere, and she was covered in blood. Her hands burned, the skin crispy._

_ She stumbled out of the house, half naked and wholly bloodied, after leaving a note of her confession. And she had left the island. And never returned._

_

* * *

  
_

She opened her eyes.

Logan was watching her, not in a perverted way, but…she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She leaned against him, and smiled gently.

"I'm not a free ride, wildchild." She joked, winking "oh-so-seductively"

He laughed aloud, and threw a hand around her waist, clutching her tightly.

The guards looked ahead; they'd learned from experience. There was no way to break the two from one another, no way that didn't lead to bloodshed.

There were whistles and catcalls. He snarled and they stopped.

His hands wondered lower. She looked away, nervous almost. But the feeling of rebellion entered the pit of my stomach, and she hummed.

His hands found the scar on her leg. He stopped. The rebellion in her died like a daisy in winter.

He looked down at her, she looked up at him, and smiled wearily. It wasn't a discussion to start now. This was something to talk about when the hour was none, and the child was fast asleep.

Logan understood perfectly. He nodded, and kissed her cheek.

* * *

"Doctor, have you seen the progress on Subject 10 and 85?! It's astounding!" The red haired woman exclaimed.

"Yes, it's quite astounding. They seem to be getting along quite nicely." The grey haired doctor smiled, jotting down charts and data.

"What do you make of it? We weren't planning for such a-a _connection_ for months!"

"Yes." He adjusted his glasses.

"Doctor?" The redheaded asked, confused. She'd through he'd be overjoyed. He seemed so…_nonchelaunt_.

"Dr. Isy…" He turned towards her. "I think it's time to "rattle the cages."

* * *

End Chapter

* * *

Hooh boy, it's been a while…Hi guys, I'm back, after a painfully long hiatus DX Remember in the beginning, when I said this story would be dark? Yeah, I meant to say: sick, twisted, they-should-have-tossed-me-in-a-institution-years-ago dark. Please forgive my german; I take Latin (and I suck at it) For those of you who are reading this on , yes, you may be a little confused on a few parts. But, I really couldn't place it on , it's just too much, and likely to get me kicked off from here. On the other hand, Adultfanfiction users, I'm sorry if this gives you nightmares Yeah, Jean had to die like that, I know, it sucks, but I couldn't just stuff her in a refrigerator, could I? Hahah…oy. (everyone who got that _god-awful_ joke gets a cookie) Sorry Miss Gray.

Jean: **shrug** I'm getting' used to it

Yeah, I'm sure you are.

Quick note: Please, don't assume that Logan and Amelie have a relationship. First off, nothings planed, and second off, it's not the basis of the story. But keep your eyes open, there are things you MUST pay attention, you may miss something!! Like Christian Bale said in 'The Prestige': Are you watching closely?

So, next chapter: Amelie get's a big surprise. And, we're not talking "snozzberry tasting like snozzberry's"

Quiz of the day: who was the pregnant girl? Hint: she has green hair.


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